The Princess Bride

On July 29, 1981, I sat glued to the TV as a pretty young Lady--who was only eight years older than myself at the time--became a real and true Princess. The Cathedral, horse-drawn carriage, poufy ivory gown, miles-long train, glittering jewels: it was all so magical...and I was an impressionable 12-year-old girl who was utterly sucked in by the incredible romance and pageantry of it all.

My fascination was harmless (though witnessing such a fairy-tale wedding can set a girl up for disappointment later in life, but that's another story); however, now there's another Princess-in-the-Making, and I'm concerned how all the hoopla is going to affect our young girls. Because when it comes to princesses, things are really different nowadays.

Back in the early 80's, princesses didn't really have any special status in the eyes of a young girl. Princesses, princes, queens, kings: they were all just characters you pretended to be while playing with your friends.

Fast-forward to 2010, and the CULT OF THE PRINCESS threatens to brainwash all our little, well, princesses.

Starting at an incredibly early age, girls are bombarded with everything Ariel, Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Belle, Jasmine, and Tiana (sorry, Pocahantas and Mulan, you don't seem to have made the cut). My daughter was able to say "Ariel," "Snow White," and "Belle" before she could say her own name. She dressed up as Snow White for Halloween and now she wants to wear the costume every single day. She's happiest when she's in that dress.

I can completely understand it: the sparkly dresses (each Princess with her own signature color), the flowing hair, the beautiful faces--it's mesmerizing. Of course little girls get sucked in.

So what happens when hundreds of thousands of girls who were raised on a steady diet of princesses are further bombarded with the impossibly romantic love story of William and Kate? My own little princess is too young to be affected by it all, but I'm sure there are countless eight or ten year olds who will be eagerly devouring every last detail about the Royal Engagement, Royal Wedding Gown, Royal Ceremony, and Royal Honeymoon.

Is this a bad thing? Not necessarily. But I don't think anyone can argue that it's a good thing or an educational thing or a healthy-for-a-normal-girl's-self-esteem thing. Because although media outlets are making a lot out of the fact that Kate Middleton is a "commoner," there's no way some girl from New Jersey or Kansas or even Bourton-on-the-Water, U.K. is going to grow up and marry a prince.

And I know that come April 30, 2011 (the day after the Big Day) there's going to be a huge, collective sigh from the thousands of girls who have just decided that their own lives are terribly and horribly normal and boring. Because that's how I felt watching Diana and Charles walk down the aisle almost 30 years ago.

It's just too much emphasis on the wrong things, and I wish the media would lay off. That's not going to happen, of course, so all I can do is patiently wait until the hoopla's over.

And hope that Prince Harry doesn't get engaged anytime soon.

Thanks Anyway, Gloria Steinem

There have been a lot of heated discussions in the media lately about being a working mother versus a stay-at-home one. Both sides often adopt a holier-than-thou attitude, but there's no right or wrong answer; it's all about what's right for that particular mother and her family.

I chose to be a stay-at-home mom, and while I do not regret the decision at all, I don't love that I'm reinforcing the very gender stereotypes that I promised my younger self I would always challenge. Boo to me. I don't bring home the bacon (unless we're talkin' actual bacon, because in that case, yes, I do bring it home...but only the antibiotic-and-nitrate-free kind!!), I shop for the food, prepare the meals, wash the clothes, do (most of) the cleaning. My husband goes to work, takes out the garbage, and mows the lawn. I'm teaching my kids that dads go to work and moms stay home.

Sometimes I wonder how and why I let this happen. Part of it has to do with boobs: I have them, my husband doesn't, so when we had our first child, it made sense for me to stay home because I could breast-feed. After the baby got a little older, my husband could've quit his job and I could've gone back to work (we didn't want both of us working full-time), but it was just easier to keep going along as before. Then baby #2 came along, more breast-feeding ensued, and nothing changed.

I know I'm lucky that I don't have to work, and I'm happy (mostly) with how things are. But, yeah, I worry about the lessons my kids are learning.

But you know what's great? My kids have only ever experienced women doctors and dentists. That's a nice change from when I was little. Sure, their preschool teachers are still all women, but there are lots of female cops and mail carriers around. Quite a few of my kids' friends have mothers who work, and on any given day there's at least a handful of dads dropping off and picking up from preschool.

So things are definitely better than when I was growing up. I may be slacking off in the shaking-up-gender-stereotypes department, but as they say, "it takes a village" to raise a child. And luckily our "village" is helping my children learn that you can be whatever you want to be, regardless of gender.

Hopefully it's sinking in.

Rock-a-Bye Baby

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too selfish to be a really good parent. Because, as we all know, when you have kids, you have to put your own needs on the back burner. And I'm finding that challenging these days.

Maybe it's not just me...after all, Gen X has been accused of being an entirely self-absorbed generation. Oh, we're not the only ones. I don't think Gen Y or even the Millennials are much better. But we were the first to be labelled as such, and coming after the Baby Boomers--who were known for their activism--made us look worse.

Generation X's decades were the 80's and 90's: better known as the Greed Is Good decade and the Slacker decade. "Give me money, give me more" segued into "Whatever, dude. Where's my car?" Me, me me...we grew up with it being all about us.

So making that transition to parenthood and it NOT being all about us anymore can be really, really hard. Not as hard as I'd feared, though, because there's something in those pregnancy hormones that numbs the selfish part of a woman's brain (for a while, at least). But at some point, even though your love for and devotion to your child has not diminished in any way, the ME, ME, ME (!!) area of the brain begins to awaken.

And that's when the trouble begins: After five years of everything being all about my kids all the time, I'm finally starting to lose it. My patience (in short supply to begin with) is waning, and my poor 2-1/2-year-old daughter is getting the brunt of it.

She's at the stage where everything has to be just so: When she goes to bed at night, she has to have Dora and Blue Bear right next to her, and her pink blanket must be draped over her precisely the right way. The whole nighty-night process has become an exact science. If I do something wrong, she freaks out and we have to go back and repeat the last step...and thenmy last bit of patience dries up. I snap.

The warm & fuzzies now over, I raise my voice and rush through the remainder of the bedtime routine. Which of course doesn't help my little one stop crying. It only makes it worse--I realize that. But by 8:30 at night I've had it and just want to veg out (or, more likely, finally fold the laundry that's been sitting in the dryer all day).

So I march out of her room and leave her there crying. She's upset but so am I. Ten minutes later she's still crying. My brain about ready to explode, I stomp to her room and push open the door.

"Go to sleep NOW!" I order.

"Blue Bear!" she wails.

She can't find her precious blue bear, which is hidden in the blanket. I give it to her and she stops crying. That's all it takes. For ten minutes I did nothing while she cried...just because I was frazzled. I feel terrible and mean and like she deserves a better mother.

The sight of my little girl wrapped up in her pink blanket, cuddling Blue Bear, her cheeks wet with the tears she'd shed while I was trying to tune her out, breaks my heart.

"Go to sleep, baby girl." I whisper through tears. "Mommy loves you so much."

And she'll try to be more patient from now on.

The Natural History of Growing Up

There was another blog-worthy episode of How I Met Your Mother last night (maybe I should turn this into a HIMYM blog!).

As you may or may not know, Marshall and Lily met in college, back when they were anti-establishment idealists bent on making a difference. Marshall became a lawyer, with the intention of working for the NRDC (Natural Resource Defense Council) so he could "save the world" as Lily says. But instead, he ended up a corporate lawyer for Goliath National Bank. He defends his position: "Remember, no one's the same as they were in college." But Lily doesn't like it and she won't accept it.

Later on in the episode, Marshall tells Lily that he's been offered a five-year contract with Goliath; Lily assumes he's not going to accept, because working at a bank was supposed to be just a temporary thing. She still views her husband as the not-for-profit, idealistic guy he was in college. But people change, and he's not that dude anymore. Lily is devastated: "I want you to be the person I fell in love with."

In a brilliant scene, Lily is sadly wandering around the Natural History Museum (the gang is at a formal gala, sponsored by Goliath), pondering the news that Marshall is determined to accept the GNB contract, thereby putting an end to her dream of him saving the world. She enters a room with various animal dioramas. Next to a "DALL'S SHEEP" one is this: "COLLEGE MARSHALL (EXTINCT)." Behind the glass is College Marshall in his dorm room. He has the munchies and is eating a huge sub.

"I want you, as opposed to who you've become," says Lily. "You've changed so much."

"You can't have me," replies Marshall. "Look at the sign; I'm extinct."

It got me thinking about the extinct me: the girl who marched on Washington in a pro-choice rally and stayed up half the night arguing about the latest cause. The girl who dreamed of a career as a documentarian, or maybe a spy. The girl who was going to travel the world...learn to speak Russian...climb the highest mountains...help bring global injustices to light.

Where is this girl now? She's a married woman, living in middle-class suburbia, driving a mini-van, cooking dinner every night, folding laundry, and wiping poopy bums. Sigh....

But yet she's also raising two incredible little people: nurturing, teaching, feeding, clothing, playing, singing, dancing, laughing, tickling, kissing, hugging, and loving, loving, loving, loving.

There is so much more love in my life today than I ever could have imagined. The present-day me has so much more going for her than the college me. I'll take my current life, thank you very much.

It beats climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro any day of the week.

Manicure, Pedicure...Insecure

Last night should've been fun, but it wasn't, not really. The problem was that I was pretending to be something I'm not. I'm just not a spa-mani-pedi gal. In fact, I've actually never had either a mani or a pedi! I know, the horrors. But it's just not my thing. However, did that stop me from saying yes when my fun new friend (the one who had the Oktoberfest party and also goes out every weekend even though she has three kids under five) invited me to a wine and nails event she was organizing at a local salon? It did not. After all, I might not be into the "nails" part but I certainly can get on board with the "wine" part!

I felt awkward from the moment I walked in. I didn't know many of the ladies there but yet they all seemed to be buddy-buddy. Everyone lived in Priusville, no doubt. Never having had a mani or pedi, I didn't know what I was supposed to do or what was going to happen. So I kinda just observed and made chit-chat and drank wine. I spent way too long picking out my polish color (there were about a million colors to choose from...I went with Rock Star Skinny for the name alone) and then all the chairs & manicurists were taken. So I had to make more chit-chat with the other ladies waiting for a spot to open.

It was sort of painful; everyone was nice but the whole thing had a cliquey/sorority-ish vibe, which was  just blech. I wanted to leave but it was way too soon. Then the conversation turned to some event taking place next week where formal dress is required and mani-pedis are therefore essential. I had no idea what they were talking about: something to do with a fund for education or some such. See, I don't live in their town so I don't know what's going on.

As I was standing there not talking, washing down chocolate-covered pretzels with Chardonnay, I asked myself, Why am I trying to be friends with these people? Because if we're not going to move (and I'm starting to think we won't) then I shouldn't even bother. If we're staying where we are, in a school district that's different from these mani-pedi moms, then my kids won't be in school with their kids, our kids won't be friends, and realistically, these moms won't stay my friends. So why bother?

I should've stayed home and watched 30 Rock instead.

S#*! the Big Sister Says

All this talk about bullying really bums me out. I posted about it before (here) but I can't get it out of my mind.

Bullying isn't just amongst peers, although that's what's covered by the media; it also occurs within families. Fighting and name-calling between siblings close in age isn't bullying, it's just normal, but what about when a few-years-older sister mercilessly teases her little brother? Does that count as bullying? Was I a bully to my brother? I think maybe I was...and I feel really guilty about it.

My brother is four years younger than me. I also have an older brother--we're just 15 months apart and were very close growing up. We did everything together, I think. My little bro came on the scene when things around the house were already pretty darn good. Perhaps I could've used a little sister, mostly because I wanted a tiny mannequin to dress up and a long head of hair to braid and style: a living doll. So yes, a second brother was kind of a disappointment, though the reality is that nothing is better to a four-year-old girl than a real live baby.

I have fond memories of singing the ABC song to him while my mother changed his diaper, and I recall the impressive arc of pee shooting into the air as he laid on the changing table. Better than a Betsy Wetsy doll!

My brother was almost as good as a sister. He grew long, blonde curls (hey, it was the 70's) and had huge brown eyes with thick, feathery lashes that elicited, "Oh, she's so cute!" from the old ladies at Stop-n-Shop. I always got a kick out of that. At home, I'd put barrettes in his hair and make him look even prettier.

But none of that was mean because he didn't know any better; he thought it was fun and was happy to be getting attention from his big sister.

The trouble started when he was four or five and figured out how to manipulate my father with his tears and tantrums. Imagine the scene: Shopping mall; dad and kids in Kaybee Toys; the two older kids understanding that this is a "looking" visit not a "buying" one; the little brother understanding this but not accepting it, throwing himself onto the floor while crying, screaming, and kicking his arms and legs; the unprepared dad caving in and purchasing desired toy; the little brother beaming while exiting the store holding a gigantic backhoe loader.

It brought the evil out of my well-behaved, good-girl self.

I called him stupid and told him he wasn't as smart as me and my older brother. Sometimes I'd get mad at him and just call him a brat, but that never got the rise from him that "dummy" or "idiot" did. I knew how to wound him. When his pet turtle died, I taunted him with, "Yay! Tommy the Turtle's de-eh-ed! He's de-eh-ed!" As my brother cried, I laughed in his face.

I wish I could say that our taunts (it wasn't just me...my older brother chimed in as well) didn't have a lasting impression, but I don't think that's true. My brother never thought he was smart. He didn't do great in school and acted like he didn't care. But I'm happy to say that he got his act together toward the end of his college career, was accepted by and graduated from (as Valedictorian no less!) an excellent dental school, and is now very successful.

Still, though...I don't think he considers himself to be as smart as he actually is. He's not at all bookish. He doesn't do crossword puzzles like me and my other brother. I can't help but think he'd be different if it weren't for my put-downs, that my bullying changed him...permanently.

And for that, I'm really, really sorry.

A House Divided

I've been toying with the idea of moving to the town next door, which my husband and I love for its cute downtown, eclectic stores, artsy cinema, bars, walkability, parks, sidewalks, and liberal population. We moved to the town we live in not knowing much about it. Basically, we found a house we loved, the commute into the city was doable for my husband, and the school system was supposedly pretty good. But there's no downtown to speak of, nowhere to walk to, no sidewalks, and the population is a bit too conservative for my liking.

However, it's school quality that's really making me think about moving. The reality is that most schools in Westchester are good. The super-highly-rated ones, like Scarsdale and Chappaqua, are (from what I've heard) pressure cookers for the poor stressed kids who attend. Navigating school seems challenging enough these days without the added academic pressure these schools put on kids. I don't want that for my little darlings. Besides, property taxes in these towns are insane.

So when we were looking to move to Westchester, we overlooked these high-pressure towns for more low-key, (relatively) poorer, and less snobby ones. The town where we ended up in is nice--it's a solid-family-values and strong-work-ethic kind of place. Except, apparently, for many of the high-schoolers;  I've heard they aren't exactly the highest achievers.

And of course that concerns me. Because while I don't want my kids to be subject to such insane pressures that they burn out (or worse), I do want them to be sufficiently challenged and surrounded by students and teachers who are all trying their best. I want my kids attending schools where curiosity and a hunger for knowledge are encouraged and valued. Our town's K-Gr. 2 program is universally praised as one of the best in the county, but unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the middle and high schools.

The general consensus is that Grades 3-12 are better in the cute town next door.

So what do we do? Do we stay here and hope the middle and high schools continue to improve (as they've been doing)? After all, our son isn't even in Kindergarten yet so time is on our side. Do we stay here until the kids have completed the acclaimed K-Gr. 2 program, and then move? Or, if we're planning on moving eventually anyway, wouldn't it be better to do it now so they aren't uprooted partway through their education?

Further complicating matters is the fact that my son currently goes to school in the next town over and 90% of his friends live there. Kids are flexible, I know, and I'm sure he'll make new local friends at Kindergarten next year, but still, he won't know anyone going in. Also, house-wise, you get less for your money in the cute other town. Do we accept a lesser house as a trade for a better school system?

And finally, there's this: I've recently begun infiltrating the "cool" group of moms who live in the cute town (I've written about them before). So far I've found out that they have Meet-in-the-Park Wednesdays with wine and pizza, and on Friday and/or Saturday nights they get babysitters and a bunch of couples meet up at one of the local bars (get this, they walk there!). We were invited to join them last night, and it was really fun (we were the only ones who drove). We could have a real, active social life if we moved to that town. People where we live now just don't do fun stuff like that.

So while I don't know what we'll end up doing, I do know that I'm looking at a couple of houses next week. I mean, who knows, right?